Arrows
by Cutxandxrun
Summary: First LotF story. Be nice? Set a couple of years after the actual story line. Ralph has survived the hunt, but doesn't know how or why. He's suffered some memory loss as well. The older Ralph walks the border between pure savagery and civilization. What happens if salvation lies with the boy who ordered his death? Terrible summery.
1. Chapter 1

**_Arrows: Chapter 1_**

**Fallen Angel**

_Sst. Thud. Sst. Thud. Ssst. Thud._

Pale blue, almost grey, eyes narrow in concentration carefully eyeing the path of the last arrow to the target. One more shot. Another arrow is nocked into place and the string is pulled taut, slender fingers brushing softly against the archer's cheek. He sights the target again and releases his fourth arrow within seconds, watching it speed through the air and penetrate the tree trunk 20 some meters away with another satisfying thud. The teen tilts his face up towards the black sky, estimating the time from the position of the celestial bodies. Judging from the moon, it's a little past midnight. He looks back down again, assessing his surroundings with a wary eye; the cold, pale light bleaches everything to eerie silver and the shifting charcoal shadows take on lives of their own. The teen eyes them uneasily, senses on high alert for any unusual disturbance, any movement at all in the forest. When there aren't any, he slips across the pale expanse of the clearing, plucks out his arrows and melts into the shadows.

It's been nearly two years since the incident that should have killed him. By all rights and laws of nature, his life should have ended. Ralph had been sure that he would die after being cornered by the savages, but by some miraculous event, some small mistake that someone made, and he'd been left alive on the beach. Lying in his own blood and aching all over, but alive. He isn't sure how he managed to live long enough to get to safety either (actually, he isn't sure how he got to safety at all), he just remembers waking up in a secluded area of the island with the yellowing bruises and interesting scars snaking across his torso and legs. For a while, Ralph had lived off of the sour fruit the island foliage offered, but had eventually begun to crave the more substantial alternative on the island. The countless pigs running rampant in the hot jungle. Meat. He couldn't use the regular method of spears and numbers, but slowly, from memory and sheer determination, had fashioned his own weapon. The bow he possessed now was his third and best one; the arrows were fashioned easily from whatever the ocean washed up on the beach. Shattered shell fragments, pebbles, coral, anything he could chip down into razor sharp points that would penetrate flesh and penetrate deep.

He'd lost some part of himself after being beaten on the beach. Society as a whole would have severely chastised his new behavior. The old Ralph wouldn't be weaving through the forest with liquid ease, black and green stripes painted onto his body. The old Ralph wouldn't have dared even think about it. The new one does. Something, some sort of barrier, that held the beast back had weakened and the new Ralph incorporates this aspect of himself into his being with little to no problem. The black and green paint ripple on the pale skin as the lithe teen observes the patterns of a band of hunters from high up in a tree. The savages hadn't bothered him since his apparent death, and after he was strong enough to move around on his own, Ralph had watched them with an almost obsessive scrutiny. They will pay for their crimes; the teen grits his teeth, a half forgotten memory of a bespectacled boy flitting through his consciousness. He can't remember the dead boy's name. He can't remember why it makes him so angry either. He just knows that the sight of the boy's killers makes him furious beyond words. His hands itch for the bow and arrows strapped on his back, he wants to see them die in their own blood. Like what they had nearly done to him. He stops though when the members of the group become clearer, _No...not yet_, the two he wants most to kill are not present. He will have to wait some more. Patience presents the best opportunity for attack to the predator.

That night, he slips down to the beach, the moonlight bleaches the sand bone white and the ocean becomes a rippling mirror; if he still had the mind to appreciate the scenery, Ralph would have wondered at the resemblance of his new tropical home to an ink drawing. Instead, he stands for a brief couple of moments, vaguely recalling the need to pay homage to two boys that have long lost their faces and names in the mists of his memories. For a second, he can hear a faint voice promising his salvation from the island, but it's gone before he can actually catch the words. The wind picks up, whirling around him and throwing his already messy hair into even more disarray. Ralph backs up to the tree line, sweeps his blue grey eyes across the white span in front of him one more time with something akin to regret clouding his stare before allowing the reaching shadows to swallow him up again.

**To be perfectly honest, I don't know if this will be finished. I am working on a second chapter, but I suck at writing stories that include an actual beginning, conflict, and ending. Besides that "little" problem, I have school and am busy and I get terrible writer's block. I promise I will try though. Any ideas will be helpful~ Just don't give me hate because that isn't helpful in any shape or form.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh, before I go on, Lord of the Flies and it's corresponding characters _do not_ belong to me. All rights go to William Goulding, the author of this**** book**. **Now that that has been cleared up, welcome to chapter 2. I'm actually quite happy with the fact I got another chapter up without suffering writer's block. I've never written anyone with a personality quite like Jack's though, so I'm sorry if he is kind of...well..._off_ I guess? Well...I suppose all of them are going to be kind of off since they're all new territory to me.**

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_**Arrows: Chapter 2**_

**Predator**

A solitary bird perches on a tree branch, ruffling its glossy feathers and trilling a high pitched note into the sleepy green silence. Something under the tree starts and hisses its displeasure at the unexpected sound; a painted body unfolds with feline grace and icy eyes flicker up at the leaves searching the trees for the offender. The bird, sensing the sudden killer aura escapes to the air, crying an alarm to the rest of the jungle underneath. The predator bares his teeth in frustration; he'll have to wait until the startled prey settles down again now. The undergrowth rustles next to him and another painted figure materializes out of the scenery, "Chief?" The hunter shakes his head and the surroundings are suddenly alive with movement; more figures step into the open, breaking the hunting formation. They all look expectantly at the red haired teenager standing in the middle. The teen rakes back his hair with one savage motion, pushing the curling strands out of his face.

"Pervicial, follow the trail." Said boy looks up with a frightened start and is about to protest when he catches the merciless amusement in the other's eyes, "Or would you rather spend time with Roger?" The black haired statue standing next to him smirks and steps towards the younger boy. Pervicial falls over himself saluting to his leader and backing away, the sounds of his panicked retreat growing fainter as he puts more distance between them. They all watch him go before turning back to the red head; he waves his hand careless, dismissing the remaining hunters. Roger lingers for a few moments before being waved away as well, years of hunting reducing his footsteps to mere whispers in the undergrowth.

Jack tilts his head back, stretching the muscles stiff from holding one position for so long and enjoying the silence away from the constant movement of the tribe. Castle Rock is almost too small for the tribe now; they'd all shot up at least a foot since Jack had first found the structure on the island. It has, after all, been close to three years since they first landed on the island. The littleuns were beginning to become boys and the surviving biguns were either reaching or well into their teenage years. Jack's severe boyish angles had begun to melt into the slender shape typical of a youth; his arms and legs had finally caught up with his hands and feet and his millions of freckles had simply melted away. Apart from his flaming hair, piercing eyes, and the few freckles that still sprinkled his nose, the tall figure held no resemblance to the boy that had landed on the island. Jack noticed these changes with some degree of annoyance, it was more difficult to stay unseen as a result of his ever lengthening body and he was constantly smacking his head on low hanging branches that hadn't bothered him before. The only positives that came out of the growth spurt were the increases in speed and strength. Jack could now run down an injured pig and wrestle it down before slitting its throat. A smile twists itself onto his face, the adrenaline of the hunt never got old no matter how many times he'd ran the prey down and spilled its warm blood on his hands. A long finger traces the circular shape smeared on his left cheekbone; red, the color of life and death. Beautiful.

The sharp call of another bird brings him back to the present. Jack shifts irritably, his flaming tresses trailing into his animated icy blue eyes and obscuring his vision again. Something wasn't right. The newly honed sixth sense that the savage lifestyle had brought back to life sparked within him and put the teen on edge. He knew there was something watching his tribe, felt the subtle shifts of his hunters whenever the presence appeared and disappeared. Jack had noticed the uneasiness of the pigs on the island as well. They were more on guard, more violent, more prone to scatter and stampede for no particular reason; the injuries within the tribe from hunting had gone up considerably during the last couple of months. It wasn't normal. There were subtle signs of something different on the island that Jack couldn't put together and it irked him. On top of that, Jack had a feeling that Ralph wasn't dead, or at least his spirit still lingered in the world. The blonde haired boy's existence had been inexplicably tied to Jack's own and as a result, as long as his soul stayed on the Earth, Jack could find no respite from the memories of the proud eyes and commanding figure. Nor forget the elegant cheekbones and corn silk hair.

Jack growled, ripping at a discarded spear with his knife, gouging deep gashes into the wood. Ralph confused him to no end. Jack never understood the other boy's duty bound sense to stay sane even as civilisation crumbled around him and the shadows and masks beckoned seductively. He knew Ralph had wanted to fall into darkness as well; there was no mistaking the eagerness to destroy and satisfy in the blonde's eyes during the bonfire. But instead of doing so and embracing the darkness like Jack had done, Ralph had turned and ran. The story would have ended there if it weren't for the tie between the two of them; as long as Ralph resisted the screams of the beast, Jack couldn't silence the whispers of civilisation. For that reason alone, Jack had decided to drag Ralph down forcibly; even if that meant running the golden sand red with the blonde boy's blood and staining his hands with the crimson life of the former chief. Then just as the problem was about to be resolved, Ralph had disappeared, leaving Jack with nothing but the nagging feeling of their unsevered bond. Just thinking about it worsens Jack's already dark mood and he stabs his knife deep into the tree, growling under his breath.

The violent movement dislodges something from the branches. Jack leaps back, his previously relaxed spear arm reflexively shooting up to his shoulder before he registers what the object really is. It's an arrow, its head gleams softly in the little sunlight let through by the leaves overhead. Out of curiosity, Jack bends down to inspect it. The weapon is carefully made, sharp and heavy enough to kill but short enough to be carried around with relative ease. His blue eyes narrow thoughtfully. Jack knows none of his tribe carries the necessary accompaniment to the arrow and before now, he hasn't seen any sign of a weapon other than the spear being created on the island. This is an abnormality and it sets his blood tingling in anticipation. The teasing picture fragments that have been driving him insane begin to fall into place. There are only two possibilities that could have birthed the arrow; either someone in his tribe created it or an outsider made it. No one in his tribe ever demonstrated any interest or skill in archery. That left the only other conclusion; it was made by someone not of his tribe. And there was only one possible outsider Jack knew of. The greatest puzzle of his life and his designated prey. Ralph. His instincts were correct; the other male was still alive somewhere on the island. Jack spins the arrow around his fingers and feels the sharp edge of the head, "You're mine, Ralph. Always have been, always will be."

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**Erm...I'm sorry if I butchered writing Jack. And I have no idea how the two boys should meet. Well, that's a lie, I have a very foggy idea of how they'll meet, but after that, it's all blank. They'll probably see each other again in either the next chapter, or chapter four if, well, I get that far. Writer's block usually kills me around then.**

**Reviews will be appreciated! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating went up to T because I'm paranoid about a scene in this chapter. Before some of you go rabbit hopping down the wrong path, Jack and Ralph haven't met up yet and none of the other boys are aware that Ralph is still living. The scene I'm worried about is just kind of bloody.**

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**_Arrows: Chapter 3_**

**Devoured**

Ralph starts at the clumsy sounds of feet against plant life but is too well trained to react to the noise. The uncertain shadows and flickering lights in the forest provide him camouflage and he knows through trial and error that not moving is his best course of action if he wishes to remain undiscovered. A boy blunders into the clearing, stops to catch his breath and drops down on one knee, examining the pig trail Ralph had been observing just seconds ago. After a while, the boy straightens up and continues on in a more careful manner, treading light-footed on the trail. From his hiding place, Ralph arches one pale eyebrow; he highly doubts the scrawny boy could run down a pig on his own, much less hold one down long enough to kill it. Besides, the alarm a bird had raised not too long ago would have put all of the pigs on guard. There was currently no way a single spear, thrown by this bony child, could take one of the animals out.

Feeling curiosity spike in his chest, Ralph rises to his feet and begins to follow the young hunter watching him pause periodically and cast fearful glances over his shoulder before hurrying on along the well worn trail. There is a close call when the boy had looped back without Ralph noticing and he had nearly been seen. Luckily, the boy was occupied and Ralph's reflexes were superb and they'd passed each other without the younger ever noticing he was being followed. The boy continues on, head bent forwards, reading the signs on the ground. The blonde teen suddenly has an urge to draw an arrow and watch it sail and plant between the shoulder blades of the unsuspecting hunter. He swallows the feeling but can't stop the memory of a savage high he'd received during a kill some time ago from welling up. It had been so easy to slip over the edge and let the beast take over everything. _No_, he can't lose. Not to it, not to anything, not if he wants to find some sort of escape from the darkness eating away his sanity.

The boy he's been tailing stops suddenly and Ralph freezes, afraid that he'd alerted the hunter somehow. The next sounds he hears though, relaxes him somewhat; the soft muffled snorting Ralph himself had been looking for floats through the air, alerting both to the animals ahead of them. Pigs. There's an audible sigh of relief from the smaller frame and the boy turns and vanishes into the undergrowth. So, a scout to seek out the location of the pigs before the actual killing component came. Ralph gives a weary smile; Jack hasn't changed much over the years. He waits a few seconds more to ensure that the boy has truly gone before sliding out onto the trail himself. It might not be wise, per say, to get near the pigs but there's nothing stopping him from doing so and he wants to know how many there are up ahead. The pigs are unaware of Ralph's approach, continuing to root in the mud for food. His hands are itching again, the want to spill blood pulses at the back of Ralph's mind and unconsciously, he reaches for his bow and arrows. Rational thought intervenes at the last possible moment, there's no gain in startling an entire herd of pigs; as good as he is with the bow, there's no guarantee that there will be no injury in the process of retreating from a stampede. He doesn't _have_ margin for error, not if he wants to survive. The arrow slides back into its place regretfully and the bow is slung once again across his shoulders.

If Jack ran true to nature, a hunting party would be dispatched right after the report is made back to him. That meant the prudent action for Ralph was to choose a place where he could watch the hunt and have a clear view of all of the hunters while also remaining relatively safe from discovery. Deciding that most hunters didn't climb trees during a hunt, Ralph swings up onto a low branch and makes his way up into the higher levels of a tree, the paint on his body breaking up his shape and blending him into the scenery. The pig herd tenses and Ralph freezes, a few minutes pass before he starts to ascend again, settling on a fork in the branches. Now he just has to wait. The only problem is, the burning craving to destroy doesn't let up; he can't slip, not again, because- Ralph frowns, because? That miniscule distraction is all the repressed beast needs. The teen rises to a half crouch, balancing precariously on the branches, a feral smile twisting his fair features. _Wouldn't it be fun to anger the hunters? _Adrenalin sets his heart racing; he wants to watch the full force of the savages' anger be brought upon the scout. He wants to see blood, wants the coppery tang to taint the air, wants the destructive nature of the chief to be unleashed upon the island for _him_ to see.

The arrow is released before his rational mind can claim dominance again and prevent the shot. A pig rears up suddenly and falls over, an arrow buried in its side. The small, sharp head has driven itself straight into and through the animal's heart. A perfect shot. The surrounding pigs scatter, squealing with rage and terror; from his perch, Ralph feels the tremors from the stampede and tightens his hold on the branches supporting him. The blonde slides down after the screams and thundering feet dies down, running lightly to the dead animal and jerking the arrow out in one fluid motion. Blood gushes forth in torrents, coating his hands and covering the plants underneath in a suffocating layer. _It's so pretty. _Red hands touch his face and smear the warmth onto his cheeks, bloody fingers leaving long, crimson trails on his skin. _"You always knew I was a part of you, didn't you? Close! Close!" _The teen licks his hands, savoring the salty, metallic taste on his tongue before gutting the pig, watching more of the red liquid spill out onto the Earth.

"_You've always been mine, didn't you know?" _The innards are dragged out and coiled neatly in an almost ceremonial way, _"Fall with them. Come have fun. He is waiting."_

Ralph suddenly jerks back, eyes huge, and backs away from the carnage he's caused with his own hands. _"Where are you going? Will you try to run away again?" _The purring voice is suddenly laced with malice; Ralph swallows the nausea he can feel rising at the back of his throat.

"_Come here!" _

The blonde runs. The undergrowth whips at his arms and legs and the hanging creepers sting his face. Sudden rushes of disjointed memories tumble over each other for prominence in his brain.

_~We need an assembly.~ _

_~I'm not going to play any longer. Not with you.~ _

~_Maybe the beast isn't real, I mean, maybe it's only us.~ _

Maybe it's only us. He runs until his lungs are burning and his legs ache with the exertion, but he can't escape the echoes bouncing around in his mind. It's only us. **Only us**. Thick vines tangle and trip him, finally bringing him to his knees, gasping desperately for oxygen. Ralph slumps in the thick plant coverage, curling in on himself as the soft whispers of the beast giggle tauntingly, _"My poor misguided child, do you think you know better than _**I **_do?"_

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**Yes, some of the lines are directly quoted from Lord of the Flies. The others I made up on my own. And chapter four isn't writing very well. T_T I hate writer's block.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh my goodness, this chapter would not write. I am still pulling my hair out over it. And I've been spelling Percival's name wrong the entire time. That was an awkward moment when I realised that.**

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_**Arrows: Chapter 4**_

**Trails**

"You said the pigs were here?" Jack's sarcastic voice cuts through the tense silence like a whip, "Are you that interested in playing with Roger?" Percival shrinks in on himself, whimpering at the thought of the dark haired teen even getting within a ten meters distance of him. His chief's next words turn the boy's face white.

"If you're so eager to spend time with him, you'll get your wish now." Jack smiles innocently at the sheer panic in his subordinate's eyes, "Roger? Want to play with him?"

Roger starts towards the crying boy, eyes dancing with eagerness, a long leather strip appearing in his right hand. Percival sobs in terror, unintelligible pleads of mercy spilling out between breaths as the first lashing pain cuts across his back. The hunters stand in a ring, painted faces leering at the spectacle in the center; most of them live for this kind of show. Jack nods at Roger, amusement dancing on his features as the younger boy dances and writhes in a desperate attempt to escape the whip. He never gets far though, every time he bumps into the circle, he is shoved right back in his tormentor's direction. Roger's face is frozen in a lazy smile, the whip sings its song again and again as he weaves whirling patterns in the air, causing his victim no end of distress. Percival finally collapses in the center, too exhausted from the mental and physical stress of running away, protecting his face as lash after lash rains down on his side, arms and legs. Jack prods at the still figure with his spear, giving a contemptuous glare at the pitiful, tear streaked face. He turns his back on the disgraced hunter, ignoring the subdued meeps of discomfort when Roger starts poking at the boy, and gestures at two identical hunters. "Samneric. Scan the clearing."

The twins stare at him from behind their black and white face paint with dead eyes, saluting in one motion and breaking the circular formation; since their former chief and last hope of salvation had disappeared from the island, both boys had become mostly silent. They followed Jack's commands almost robotically and although the obvious fear that Jack and Roger instilled in them showed they were still human, any other strong emotion seemed to have burned up just as violently as the consuming fire three years ago. A few feet away from the main group, they glance at each other mutely; silently agreeing to split up and search the clearing in quarters. It's more efficient than sticking together and it's harder to miss things that way.

By now, Percival had pulled himself up to a painful sitting position and not for the first time, Jack is impressed by Roger's ability to inflict the most pain while still keeping the victim fully conscious. The boy's body is criss crossed by angry red lines and the tall redhead knows that there are probably several bruises blooming as well. Percival tenses when he feels the chief's eyes focus on him again, a breathy whine escaping him. He escapes further punishment by sheer coincidence; a startled cry several meters away from them causes Jack to turn around again immediately. Icy eyes sweep the clearing, trying to identify where the sound had come from; Jack finds the identical figures crouching at the far end of the small open space, looking down on something hidden completely by the thick plant life. Samneric's heads turn towards him in one motion and both shoot up in a hurry, loping back towards the ring of hunters. They knew better than to keep Jack waiting, both the redhead and his second in command have dyed the whip with their blood multiple times for such an infraction. Jack arches both ruby eyebrows at them, giving them permission to speak. The hunters behind him shift restlessly, curiosity making them impatient for the information as well. The twins take a breath at the same time and launch into their report, words tumbling over each other in a rare display of excitement.

"There's a pig-"

"A dead one-"

"Yes, a dead one, and its-"

"Its insides have been cut out-"

"Blood's everywhere-"

"Right, and it doesn't…" Both pause and look at each other uncertainly, hazel eyes betraying a chaotic thought process behind their masked faces. Jack prompts them in an acidic voice.

"It doesn't?" Samneric glance at him then at the whip in Roger's hands before peeking at each other in a sidelong flick of the eyes. Sam (Or was it Eric?) picks up where they left off, lowering his voice so that Jack only barely caught what the other said.

"Doesn't look natural. Too clean." Eric (Or was it Sam?) finishes their report in the same whispery tone.

"Right, looks a knife cut." Jack's eyebrows disappear into his hairline. Samneric huddle together in fright, watching their chief's every action. Jack was unpredictable in a calculating way and they really didn't want to join Percival in the "circle of fun" as Roger had come to call it. Fortunately, the blue eyes don't flash mischievously and Jack waves at them to show him to the location of their find; he follows the relieved twins to the disemboweled animal and crouches down to examine it. The pig's innards are deposited in a neat pile next to the carcass, the ropelike intestines coiled around the pile like a snake. Blood is coagulating around the body and when Jack inspects the ripping gash, he discovers that the twins' are right. It's a single, expert cut from throat to pelvis that resembles the neat incisions Jack himself makes on the throats of the pigs he brings down. He senses Roger crouch next to him, studying the strange kill as well.

"It was after the blood." Roger trails his fingers in the sticky mess before swirling the dark color onto his face, "Certainly knew what it was doing." He sounds pleased. Jack nearly sighs in exasperation; he was being somewhat hypocritical since the sight of the gooey stuff had also set his skin tingling with approval, but Roger had an unnatural obsession with blood. He liked it to the point where Jack sometimes wondered if his best friend wasn't missing a couple of marbles. The next comment draws the redhead's thought process up short, "There's a hole behind its left shoulder." The soft voice makes Jack pause in his musings. Icy eyes flicker to the spot indicated by a maroon finger. Jack's mouth quirks at one end, his brain immediately realising who had been behind the kill; Samneric automatically back up a foot, recognising the fiendish expression on the painted face. The tall teen moves around the dead pig, examining a barely noticeable trail of crushed plant life then rises to his feet and waves the rest of the hunting party forwards. For the next couple minutes, a staccato of commands punctuate the air, splitting the group into two. One group will take the pig back to Castle Rock; the other is going to follow the nearly invisible trail left in the tall grass. Percival is taken with the tracking group to be given a chance to redeem himself to the hunters; however, the real reason Jack takes him is because he knows Ralph is armed and probably dangerous. Percival is simply an added complication and cannon fodder if need be.

The group sets off; there are stretches of the trail where it is obvious interrupted by areas where it all but disappeared. Jack and the group are in the middle of trying to find the trail again when an ancient instinct makes the redhead leap to the side, and an arrow whistles past him to bury itself to a quivering stop in Percival's arm. The boy's scream of pain echoes on the island; there isn't time to find out how severe the wound is though, because another arrow is already in the air. Some of the younger hunters, not understanding how the injury occured, begin shrieking about the beast, memories of the past fear rushing back as adrenalin prevented all rational thought. Another arrow hits the ground not far from Roger, surprisingly, the dark haired hunter hasn't lost his calm demeanor at all. He looks at Jack, a question in the dark eyes; Jack tilts his head and Roger vanishes in the chaos. A fourth arrow is airborne by now; this time though, Jack seeks out the direction it came from and throws his spear that way. He's rewarded with a rustle of leaves and a long shape tumbling out and landing on the ground in front of him.

The elongating shadows plays with the newcomer's appearance. Ralph looks almost possessed in the shade cast by the tapering leaves and trailing creepers overhead; the darkness accentuates the red trails on his cheeks, making it look like he'd cried until his eyes had run out of tears and bled instead. The flat, grey eyes stare at him from behind an arrow shaft, bowstring tense and ready for another strike. Jack would never know where that shot was actually headed because just then, Roger appears from behind the blonde and knocks him out with a clean blow to the head. The shot goes wide and another hunter grunts in pain, the arrow lodged firmly in his bicep. The second in command steps around the still body and picks up the dropped bow, testing its shooting strength experimentally; Jack crouches down next to him, examining one of the arrows. Roger taps the blonde's throat with the point of his spear, eyebrows drawing together in slight irritation when Jack shakes his head and denies him the request. The redhead taps the arrow in his hand against the unconscious teen's shoulder blade, a more appealing idea forming in his head. Ralph is now too intriguing for Jack, it would be a shame to just kill the teen and Jack knows that breaking the blonde down is going to be more fun in the long run. The remaining uninjured hunters stare at him quizzically, waiting for orders. Jack ties the blonde's wrists together and hauls the limp body up, motioning for the hunters to follow him back to Castle Rock with the new prisoner.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm sorry for the long wait with this chapter, but I couldn't figure out how to write it.**

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_**Arrows: Chapter 5**_

**Prisoner**

The blonde boy wakes up on the floor of an unfamiliar cave with a pounding headache. He groans, begins to sit up and immediately stops; trying to move makes the dizzying sensation worse and the walls spin around him. Ralph tries to bring his hands to his head and finds them restrained; he frowns, trying to remember what had happened through the throbbing of his head. There's most definitely a memory of seeing the hunters appear and fighting with them, after that, it's all a black void. He has no idea how he managed to get here, but judging from his bound wrists and the stout vine attaching his ankle to the rock wall of the cave, he's probably been captured. Ralph drops his cheek against the sandy floor of the cave, feeling his mouth twitch up in a bitter smile. Death doesn't allow it's prey to get away and is extremely jealous of its chosen victims. The blonde has cheated dying once, and it's come back to finish him off with the hands of the one person he had wanted to kill. How ironic. Ralph feels rather than sees Jack appear at the entrance and walk towards him; the soft sounds of his feet stopping right next to Ralph's back. A sharp point digs into his ribs and Ralph draws in a sharp breath, the shadowy figure standing above him laughs quietly.

"Awake, Ralph?"

Said male twists his body away and sits up against the wall, drawing his lips back into a snarl, "Going to kill me, savage? Like you did the others?" Jack's eyes flash in the dim light of the cave and he lunges towards Ralph. The blonde hisses in displeasure as the needlepoint of a knife makes itself known at his neck; Jack grins, forcing Ralph's chin up with the weapon to expose the entire expanse of his throat, the icy pupils tracing the hidden arteries under the skin.

"Such a tempting proposition, but no. I won't let you die a martyr." The point moves from the captive teen's throat to the jugular, lightly tracing the path of the vein, "But it is oh so tempting." The blade pulls away suddenly and flicks across Ralph's shoulder, intentionally drawing blood and leaving a shallow cut on the skin. The blonde shies away from the unexpected pain and Jack smiles. There's a silver arc as the knife flicks out again, this time leaving a crimson line on Ralph's forearm, right below the elbow. The third time Jack deliberately cuts a pattern onto the tan skin. Taking advantage of the prisoner's turned body, the redhead leaves a bleeding mark resembling two "X"s on Ralph's left shoulder blade. The bound male hisses in anger and pain, lashing out with his free foot; Jack dodges the attack with a grin, amused at the reaction he'd gotten out of his former chief.

"Energetic, aren't you?" Ralph grits his teeth at the silky purr, "Roger is going to love playing with you." Leaving the blonde to digest the new and possibly disturbing information alone, Jack spins on his heel and vanishes into the light opening of the cave.

"Play time" comes two hours later, or so Ralph guesses from the movement of the sun. Two broad shouldered blondes come in and march him out of the cave to the center of the sandy clearing. Roger is already there, unwinding the slender cord from its coiled form in his hands; the dark eyes light up when he sees his new plaything appear and the whip hums to life. The hunters ring them in, spears at their sides as one of Ralph's escorts unties his hands and Roger advances on the blonde.

The first strike catches Ralph on his stomach and leaves an angry swathe of red in its wake; instinctively, Ralph jerks away and runs into the blunt end of a spear. The hunter shoves him back into the center, eyes dancing with eagerness. The whip is already humming towards him; this time, it slashes across his shoulder and chest reopening the earlier cut from the knife. The whip tears away skin and widens the wound, making warm liquid bead at the edges of the laceration. The blonde can hear the sharp intake of breath from the surrounding hunters and feel their urge to kill leap and squirm underneath their painted masks. From somewhere above them, Ralph senses Jack's mocking smile directed at him; the grey-blue eyes narrow, if the hunters want to play a game, they're going to have to play by his rules. If Roger wants his fun, he's going to have to work for it. When the whip sings again, Ralph is ready; the blonde slips to the side like a shadow, the strike humming harmlessly past him. He sees the brunette grin at the challenge and increase the tempo of his lashes at the evasive blonde. The two circle around each other for a while until Roger becomes bored of the whip and tackles Ralph.

The blonde is caught by surprise; the combination of Roger's legs and weight makes the two of them skid on the sandy floor. Ralph hisses at the sting of the outer layer of his skin being torn away by the rough ground; Roger coos at the sound of pain and flips the other male over, sitting on his back and forcing the blonde's arms on the ground. He grins at the sight of the symbol Jack's cut onto Ralph's back and yanks at the trapped male's hair, forcing Ralph to arch up close to him.

"You're his now, aren't you? Wonder how you're going to end. The Chief's quite...unpredictable," there's a slight pause as Roger chuckles, obviously recalling a pleasant memory, "Maybe you'll die by a rock as well. Just like that bag of lard."

Ralph growls, feeling his vision beginning to tinge with red. Will_ you take that without a fight?_ The beast's voice purrs in Ralph's head,_ Let him eat his own medicine,_ Ralph can feel the black void swallowing his mind, _Come, come, dear child. I know what is best for you. Let go. Kill him_

The blonde slams a foot into Roger's back, making the brunette release his hold then jerks his legs up underneath him, throwing Roger forward and off of his back. The brunette lands gracefully, turning to face him again with an elegant twist of his body. Ralph feels his eyes narrow into slits and he slips into a hunting crouch; the muscles in his legs coil and he springs like a panther at Roger. Although the male sidesteps and avoids the damage intended, the blonde pirouettes and slams his fist into the other's stomach as he skids past his target; Roger grunts at the impact, eyes glowing at the fury he had managed to elicit from the other male. This is going to be the most fun he's had in ages. The brunette is suddenly grateful that they'd failed to kill this exile two years ago. His job and occupation provided entertainment enough, but this, this was amusement in its purest form. Roger meets Ralph halfway, the shrieks of excitement from the surrounding hunters ringing in the clearing. The two boys are engaged in a lethal dance for a good amount of time; the deadly elegance contained within both lithe bodies twirl and spin around each other, the slightest misstep resulting in the dull thumps of flesh hitting flesh.

Then just as suddenly as Ralph had snapped and became a predator, he stops; the events leading up to the sudden end were confusing and chaotic. Ralph had tackled Roger to the ground and tried to pummel the brunette into a pulp. Roger had sustained considerable damage before he finally flipped their positions and trapped Ralph against the ground. The brunette's fingers had curled around the other male's throat, fuelled by the chanting cry of the spectators and his own sadistic pleasure at the other's choking response. There'd been a distinct difference in their strength; Roger's spent a good chunk of the three years tackling pigs and keeping them down. Ralph hasn't. It had looked like the blonde was going to be strangled to unconsciousness when he had abruptly slammed the palm of his hand full force into the other's nose. Roger let go with a grunt of surprise, and after coughing and gasping for a few minutes, Ralph suddenly went still, folding like a limp doll. For the rest of the session, he might as well have been dead.

Quickly becoming bored of this new arrangement and seeing that Jack had lost interest as well, Roger had waved the same two escorts forward to lead Ralph back into the cave. Once bound, leashed, and left alone again, Ralph begins to inspect the blossoming bruises appearing on his skin, cursing under his breath whenever the abrasions on his back touched anything. He doesn't really remember what happened after Roger had taunted him; everything was red until the brunette had more or less choked him to semi consciousness. The blonde heaves a sigh and immediately wishes he hadn't, his bruised ribs protest at the extra strain put on them with the large breath by producing a dull throbbing in his sides. Ralph is distracted from his discomfort when two familiar shapes slip into his line of vision; Samneric sidle up, uncertainty flickering in their identical hazel eyes. They stare hard at him, as if trying to reassure themselves he was actually there before beginning to smear a pasty green mixture onto Ralph's injuries mumbling nervously.

"Gave Roger quite a beating there."

"Don't think-"

"He can hunt for a while."

"Chief's kind of put out."

"Right. Roger's one of the best."

Both snort sarcastically at this remark, "Probably because he wants blood all the time." Ralph shifts underneath their ministering hands and they stop immediately, leaning away slightly, "We should go now. Nice seeing you alive and mostly healthy."

Ralph frowns at the last comment; he doesn't recall them being close enough to care about his state of being; what exactly had his near death experience eaten up? He only remembers that Jack and his tribe of hunters were responsible for the deaths of two people, but there's a vague recollection of his own thrill at being a part of a hunt. What part did he play in all of this? There's a blurry image of a fire; Ralph can't hold it long enough to bring it into focus. He groans irritably; what wasn't he remembering?

The concentration disappears when Jack strides back into the cave; Ralph immediately places himself as far away from the redhead as he can. He's not in the mood to hold another conversation with the savage. Surprisingly, Jack ignores him and pulls out three bowls of paint instead; Ralph watches from the shadows as the ginger meticulously applies the paint to his face, tracing the fading outlines of a previous pattern on his skin. Jack looks demonic in the little light allowed in by the entrance of the cave; the red and white cuts his face into unnatural portions and highlights the bolting blue eyes. He twirls his spear experimentally, nearly slashing Ralph in the small space; the mask turns towards the blonde upon hearing the annoyed sound from the prisoner and smirks.

"If you prove to be a good boy, I might let you join us." Jack laughs at the glare Ralph shoots him, "But you're too uncontrollable, can't let a traitor hold his own weapon now, can I?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. The masked face turns away from the blonde and Ralph stares at the tall silhouette until it vanishes from his vision.

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**I finally managed to write chapter five; it's one of those chapters where I feel like I should have done better, but can't figure out how to improve so it sits on my mind and annoys me until I give up and post it. **

**Erm... yeah... the plot line is killing me. Thank you for the support though :) It helps a lot.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I was asked it this was going to be a Jalph fanfiction, and I'm going assume it was pertaining to slash. My answer is going to be that I wasn't planning on it; the relationship I had in mind wasn't going to extend past a rather interesting friendship, but from what I am told, there are definitely hints of Jalph if the story were to be read with a slash mindset. And it's still early in the plot, so we'll see.  
**

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_**Arrows:Chapter 6**_

**Trouble**

Movement wakes Jack up the next morning; he tenses, the subdued glint of metal flashes for a brief second in the weak light before the ginger registers that the movement was the result of Ralph standing up against the cave wall and yanking irritably at the vine tethering him like a dog. Jack smirks lazily; flicking his spear around to dig the sharp end of the weapon into the captive's injured back. The blond starts, jerking away quickly and twisting his body around to face his companion pale eyes shooting a glare at the pleased expression on the other's face. Jack ignores the pointed look, arching his back like a cat in a luxurious stretch before sitting up to inspect his unwilling companion. He knows that just his presence is enough to annoy Ralph and he intends to prolong the other's frustration for as long as he can, so he adopts an artist's eye in the examination of the prisoner, scrutinizing every detail.

Three years has changed his old nemesis; the sun has bleached Ralph's hair to a silvery white and a faint trail of freckles has appeared on his nose and cheekbones. His jaw had become more defined and the elegant cheekbones were more chiselled. The boy had shot up as well, but after seeing all of his tribe become beanstalks in the last couple of years, Jack isn't surprised at this. What intrigued him was the icy aura that wrapped around the blond; two years of isolation had somehow made Ralph completely incomprehensible. Jack had witnessed this yesterday when Ralph became an embodiment of sheer blood thirst, fighting against Roger with a clear intent to maim and destroy. It was a show that Jack hadn't anticipated at all and he'd wondered briefly if they'd both kill each other right there in the clearing. But then just as abruptly as Ralph had become deadly, he'd reverted back to normal and taken a 180 turn. The redhead would have thought that his second in command had killed the blond if not for the subtle movements Ralph made in the few minutes after the grand finale.

Ralph glares at his captor for another couple of minutes before purposely turning away to tug savagely at his leash again, grumbling under his breath at the chafing around his ankle. Jack knows that the blond teen is itching for freedom; being confined against his will is as alien to him as civilized life is to Jack. He grins, sauntering over to the occupied male, and loops his arm around the other's neck. Jack feels the other's body tense just before Ralph attempts to headbutt the ginger, wanting Jack to lessen the pressure on his windpipe; his tormentor simply grins and avoids the hit, using his other arm to force the blond still.

Pushing Ralph to the brink is one of his favorite pastimes; Jack discovered this inclination during the early years of the island. He'd broken the rules and tested Ralph's authority because he'd liked seeing the normally collected male become flustered and indecisive. A reaction that eventually became a common occurrence when Jack had enticed most of the boys to his tribe; Ralph's obvious stress had given Jack no end of delight. Now, he plays with fire in another way; one hand slides its way under the blond's chin and tilts it up forcefully. The back of Ralph's head smacks onto Jack's shoulder and the redhead smiles in entertainment at the cough that the trapped male emits from the sudden pressure change. The ice blue eyes glint wickedly and Jack ducks his head, grazing sharp canines against the other male's exposed throat; Ralph jumps and snarls, lean muscles rippling under the restraining arm Jack's wound around his torso. The hunter smirks in satisfaction and spins the blond around, slamming the other against the rocky wall. Ralph hisses at the pain from the raw skin on his back and kicks at the redhead in front of him, mute threats communicated clearly through the stormy eyes. Jack dodges the attack again with all the grace of a cat before immobilizing Ralph's legs with his own; the blond stops struggling with this, reverting to the same statue-like form he'd adopted the day before with Roger.

"What do you want?" The question is spit at the redhead with as much venom packed into one sentence as possible. The redhead simply arches an eyebrow, enjoying the irate expression glowing in the slate grey eyes.

"Isn't that my question? After all, you were the one who woke me up." He feels the captive's slender arms flex, subconsciously trying to free his bound hands so that he could punch the aggravating ginger. Jack tightens his hold on the two limbs, drawing another hiss of anger from the blond teen.

"You-"

"Chief! There's a-" The newcomer stops short when he sees the position the two other boys are in and flushes a tomato red, "Uhh...I...um...you...I mean, sorryforinterupting!"

Jack disengages himself easily, stepping away from the blond male with no trace of discomfort on his face and waves at the stuttering boy to go on with his report. The young hunter shifts uneasily from one foot to another, feeling murderous vibes radiating from somewhere behind the tall teen's shoulder. Jack snaps his fingers at the boy, impatience clear in his gestures; the boy comes back to attention and recites his report without breathing once in between.

"We found a ship docked on the beach this morning and Robert counted at least seven men on land and it doesn't look like they have guns of any kind and they look like they're starving and the ship is badly damaged and Bill said you would want to know about it." After finishing this, the boy draws in a shuddering gasp and salutes Jack with his spear. Jack frowns at this new development, carefully running over the implications of the event.

"What kind of ship is it?"

The boy blinks owlishly and shakes his head nervously, "I don't know Chief, neither Robert nor Bill said." Jack closes his eyes in irritation, it's been close to three years and half of his hunters still didn't know how to make a complete report; it was pathetic.

"Lead the way there."

The boy bobbles his head, salutes with his spear again, and turns around to briskly retrace the path he'd taken to Castle Rock from his previous location. It takes them two to three minutes to find the rest of the party; Maurice tells Jack that Bill and Robert had sent them away to avoid discovery by the newcomers before pointing in the direction the two senior hunters were located. The redhead slips through the undergrowth, appearing at Robert's shoulder with barely a sound; the stocky blond starts, relaxes, and directs Jack's eyes to the activity he had been watching for a good while now.

The redhead immediately registers that the ship is in very bad condition; there are obvious signs of damage all along the hull of the vessel and the craft itself was lulling in the shallow water near the beach, looking like it would have sunk at any given moment if it were out in the open ocean. She must have been drifting for a good while because her crew is so desperate for food that some of them have forgone even foraging for something edible and are chewing on leaves and strips of bark. Jack wrinkles his nose in both disgust and annoyance; goodness knew how much those intruders would eat. He doesn't like the idea of having to share anything on the island with these newcomers. Bill moves next to him, eyes fixed on a still figure lying on the sand.

"What do you want us to do, Chief?" Jack shakes his head; as of right now, the surviving crew members stumbling around on the beach are too weak to pose a threat to them. He doesn't want to waste the energy and risk unnecessary injury attacking people who might die on their own anyway. The only complication was the ship; depending on its origins, they could be dealing with either trained fighters or pampered puppies, but the vessel is so badly ruined, Jack can't glean any information from this distance. The three hunters withdraw from the scene silently and join up with the main group; the party makes its way back to Castle Rock before Jack draws them into a circle around him to give orders. They're going to alert the entire tribe to the presence of the newcomers and keep a constant eye on them; if there are changes, Jack has to know about them. Once done, he dismisses the hunters and goes to find Roger; the brunette is scraping the fat off of the hide of a pig he'd skinned recently, using up the energy usually channelled into hunting and killing. The bruises on his cheek and chest are starting to turn purple and if nothing else, added to the already terrifying image Roger projected to the rest of the tribe.

"Jack." Of his entire tribe, only Roger had retained the privilege of calling Jack by name without using his title. Even then, the sadistic teen hardly ever used it, only dropping all etiquette when he sensed the ginger had sought him out for a specific reason. Now was one of those rare occurrences; Roger can feel the tense atmosphere that had followed Jack and he pauses what he is doing to fix dark eyes at his chief, "Speak. I'm listening."

Jack settles next to his friend, pulling out his knife to sharpen his spear, "Are you good with puzzles?"

The brunette pulls his eyebrows in towards each other in an unusual display of emotion, "Puzzles?"

Jack makes an impatient gesture with his hands, "Yes, as in can you put together pieces of information into a logical order?" His second in command shrugs, returning to his previous job.

"Yes and no, depends on what I have to work with."

The blue eyes gleam at this answer and the ginger gets to his feet again. Roger just catches his chief's parting words, "Then I'll see you at midnight in full paint."

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**Was that too sudden? Ugh, I have no confidence when it comes to writing *frustrated muttering*.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Welcome to chapter 7. I actually got to chapter 7 :D *mental pat on the back* **

**This is Jack's point of view because Ralph isn't doing anything at the moment. Besides, the investigation just a _little_ bit more important, don't you think?**

**... ... **

**...that was sarcasm. _Please_ don't be my I-can't-tell-when-you're-being-sarcastic friend. **

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_**Arrows: Chapter 7**_

**Warning**

That night, clouds roll across the island; the moon appears and disappears, making the landscape flicker between light and shadow. The younger hunters huddle together wherever they decided to stay for the night. The fear of the unknown has never left them; even now, the blurry memories of monsters lurk in their subconsciousness and prompt them to avoid being out on nights like this one. Farther up the clearing, Jack is skirting around a prone Ralph; the blond is almost as tall as he is and as a result, the prisoner's legs present a tripping hazard in the darkness. The redhead is just outside the entrance when a soft voice makes him freeze; either Ralph hadn't fallen asleep or he'd become a light sleeper because when Jack turns his head, he finds pale eyes staring at him. The blond rises to a sitting position, wincing slightly at the new bruises on his arms.

"Are you going to the ship?" The question catches Jack off guard and Ralph smiles smugly at the savage's fleeting expression. As isolated as he is from the tribe, the blond is observant enough to gather intel on his own. The snippets Ralph has caught from several different conversations contain enough information to allow him to string it into a complete thought. He knows there's a wrecked ship bearing unwelcome visitors, on top of that, he knows Jack too well. The ginger's unusual behavior has piqued Ralph's curiosity, although he hides this from the hunter. "Why? Some half dead sailors couldn't possibly threaten _you_, O exalted ruler of barbarians."

Ralph was pushing his limits; Jack is already tense from the day's events, his captive's mocking tone might have received a death sentence if Jack had been three years younger. Judging from Ralph's cold look, that is exactly what he is expecting from the painted hunter. Jack smirks, he won't be predictable then. What fun would that be?

"I seem to remember that only one boy toppled you from your throne, _Chief_. Then all you had were the dead and the sack of fat."

Surprisingly, his first jibe didn't elicit any reaction from the prisoner. Ralph simply adopted a vaguely confused expression, but the second taunt sparked icy fire in the stormy eyes.

"He had a name, savage, and he never did anything. You just killed him for fun."

"Correction. He killed himself. Trying to challenge me with only a shell? Suicidal. If he were really that smart, he wouldn't have tried to resist in the first place."

The blond's eyes flash angrily in the dark; he's drawing breath for another retort when he suddenly turns his head away, "Go have your fun." Ralph sounds exhausted; Jack is toying at the blond with his spear when the teen abruptly whips his head around again, "Watch for the rings of three. And _stop poking me you sorry excuse for a human_!"

Although he subconsciously registers the request and stores it for further use, Jack is much more delighted at Ralph's irate reaction. The blond appears to never remember that his hands are tied and useless behind his back because the teen resorts to punching first every single time Jack annoys him. He can't, of course, and it gives Jack no end of entertainment. The ginger's tempted to keep annoying the captive blond, but a visual scan of the clearing reveals the tall silhouette near the ashes of a bonfire. Jack glances up at the shifting sky then stares right into dark eyes, feeling a wry smile tug at his mouth. He knows that the punctual Roger doesn't like waiting. By now, Ralph has lain down again and is completely ignoring Jack; the even breathing suggesting that the blond wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. The redhead joins his friend and the two painted figures melt into the scenery.

The ocean is restless; Jack can see the white caps of the breaking waves far before they reach the beach. The wind has whipped the sand up as well, and it stings the two hunters' legs as the particles are driven into wild dances by the moving air. Roger scans the stretch of bone white land in front of them as Jack surveys their surroundings and the dark shape of the ship, determining a path to the vessel. All of the surviving crew is asleep, completely dead to the world, inside the tree line. Jack notes this with a frown; there had been no physical indication of an approaching storm until well into the clutches of nighttime. The fact that the crew had sought shelter beforehand indicated the possibility they were seasoned sailors and experienced in the art of survival; however, this observation clashed with the fact that none of the sleeping humans woke with the new presence of the two hunters. Only inexperienced city dwellers slept so deeply; people used to being in the elements would never allow their consciousness to slip so far. Roger taps Jack's shoulder, eyebrows arched in a silent question. The ginger shakes his head, filing his confusion for later, and beckons for his friend to follow him. Taking one last glance at the prone figures, both teens slip across the beach like twin shadows and into the moored ship.

The inside smells like moldy wood and seaweed. Ominous creaking sounds echo in the hollow chamber every time the wind blows. Jack makes a face at the strong stench, warily eying what little he can see of the interior. He would prefer that the structure doesn't fall on his head while he is inside. Roger is staring at him expectantly, waiting for the plan of action; Jack rolls his eyes internally, there are times he is certain Roger only took the beta position because the brunette didn't like strategizing. He leaves most of the planning to Jack even though the redhead knows that unlike many of the others, Roger is very capable of thinking for himself. The ship lists to the side gently, stopping Jack's musing. Right, they have an objective to accomplish. He gestures at Roger to stand guard and steps farther into the darkness.

Fortunately for the hunter, there are enough holes smashed into the ship for what unreliable moonlight there is to light up the cavern. The place is mostly empty and devoid of information; even what appeared to be the captain's quarters yielded little to no detail that Jack hadn't already deduced from his primary inspection. He does find a map and a piece of parchment identifying the destination of the vessel as North America, but that is about all the new information available on the ship. There is no flag to show nationality and no cargo either to provide clues on what the ship's intended use was. Jack growls in irritation; he hates fruitless searching and consequently, this is grating on his nerves. The redhead steps on the main deck warily, feeling the boards shift slightly under his weight, and walks the length of the once mighty vessel looking for anything that might be useful. Nothing. The teen is just turning away to head back to Roger when the weak light hits something on the door to the captain's cabin and makes it shimmer. Jack frowns, gingerly stepping closer to the splintering wood for a better view; after a few seconds, the moon peeks out again from behind the clouds and shoots its silvery rays down. The light is gone in a heartbeat, but Jack's keen eyes have caught the nearly invisible symbols on the surface of the wood. Almost immediately, the ruby eyebrows curve downwards and towards each other; this is...interesting.

"_Watch for the rings of three."_

Jack doesn't know the actual meaning of Ralph's words, but the fleeting image the moonlight had revealed most definitely fit the vague description. He's probably going to have to ask Ralph to clarify; the frown deepens, Jack doesn't like asking others for favors. Especially not the blond teen; if Jack can avoid that alternative by any means possible, he is going to. When the redhead gets back to his partner, Roger is busy torturing a hermit crab with his spear and a strip of seaweed. The poor creature is trying its best to escape but to no avail; even in the dark belly of the ship, the hermit crab can't scuttle more than a couple of inches before being caught. It finally gets a lucky break when Roger comes to attention at the sound of Jack snapping his fingers. The dark teen shakes his head at the searching glance; there's been no movement at all from the sleeping crew. Both slide out of the ship and ghost across the restless expanse of sand to the dark tree line, allowing the charcoal shadows to swallow their forms whole. Lightning crackles in the distance and the island goes completely dark; the moon vanishing entirely behind a wall of black clouds. The wind picks up to a howling gale and the jungle comes alive in the shadows; creepers become reaching arms and creaking trees become skeletal silhouettes. Even Roger tenses and quickens his pace, maintaining the silence between him and his chief until they reach Jack's cave at Castle Rock. Once there, he turns around; Jack, guessing the question Roger wants to ask, holds up a hand.

"There wasn't anything in there. It looks like the crew either ate or dumped everything overboard." The brunette scowls at this, turning the matter over in his head.

"We should just capture one of them and force information out."

Behind them, Ralph stirs restlessly; both teens start and turn around, looking to see if the blond had woken up. But the captured teen only mutters fretfully before settling again, his breathing returning to an even rhythm. Roger's eyes glint at the scars on the blond's body.

"His father is in the Navy, right? He might know more about ships. May I interrogate him if you decide to question him?"

Lightning briefly illuminates the island in blue; Roger catches Jack's approving smirk in the eerie light before everything goes dark again and a deafening clap of thunder send vibrations through the ground. Jack feels his jaw clench at the sound and he dismisses Roger with a wave before stepping into the black mouth of his cave; the redhead is completely blind inside the cavern, he leans his spear against the rocky wall and slides down next to it. This position puts him right next to Ralph, but Jack is too tired to care. Besides, the blond waking up and panicking is something that would amuse him to no end. And he is freezing; as much as Jack doesn't want to admit it, the warmth radiating from Ralph is keeping him close to the boy. For a few moments, Jack attempts to revisit the shimmering design he'd found on the ship. _Rings of three. _He has a feeling the symbol was of significant importance, but his brain refuses to dwell on it any longer. Jack falls asleep right as the rain begins to come down in sheets, blurring the island into one grey mass.

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**I have been wondering if I'm beginning to write both Jack and Ralph differently. Is there a change? **


	8. Chapter 8

**I swear, to me, posting something is like sending a first child off to school. I completely freak out and spend a good five minutes hyperventilating. Am I weird? **

**...**

**Yeah, I'm weird.**

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_**Arrows: Chapter 8**_

**Flicker**

It's not the screaming wind that rouses Ralph from his nightmares. It's not the blinding flashes of lightning arcing across the sky. It's not even the ear-splitting thunder rumbling too close for comfort. It's the fact that he _can't move_; Ralph knows that he isn't tied up to the point where all movement was restrained, but he can't roll over. As adrenalin chases the drowsiness from the blond's brain, he becomes aware of two arms wrapped around his torso and the presence of another body. Oh, right. It was _Jack's_ cave after all; the redhead _would _be sleeping here. Ralph grits his teeth in irritation and tries to squirm out of the ginger's embrace; what he wouldn't give for a knife, he'd at _least _be able to free himself and make Jack pay for keeping him as a toy. From somewhere deep in his mind, the beast laughs as Ralph twists his body around to survey the hunter. Jack is much closer than Ralph anticipated; in fact, the blond's nose brushes his companion's mouth as Ralph flips his body. The captive male jumps, and for a few seconds, his rationale slips. As so many times before, that is all the beast needs to claim dominance in the teen.

The bindings on the prisoner are probably what saved Jack's life; the blood thirst that the beast instills renders Ralph incapable of strategy or logic, so the blond spends a good deal of patience trying in a futile effort to free his hands. When he can't, the beast snarls and Ralph lashes out blindly in frustration; consequently, instead of landing a killing blow on Jack's throat, the blond sinks his teeth into the muscle connecting Jack's neck and shoulder. Painful, but not fatal. The hunter is awake and on top of him in milliseconds; Ralph hardly has time to blink through the red haze before his head slams against the floor and dots appear in his vision. Jack is leaning over him, a threatening snarl twisted across his features; grey light emphasizes the bolting eyes to a terrifying extent, making Jack look scarily like a starving wolf. Ralph barely registers the anger on the other's face though, blue grey eyes already glazing over at the sight of crimson trails sliding down Jack's skin. He lunges again, but this time, Jack ducks to the side and forces his forearm under the blond's chin, keeping Ralph flat against the ground.

"What," the redhead's voice is dark with irritation, "do you think you're doing?"

The captive doesn't answer, concentrating instead on trying to struggle out of the hold Jack has on him. The redhead arches one fiery eyebrow at the squirming teen underneath him, "And you call me a savage. What are _you _then?"

_Savage. _The word pierces through the thick haze of bloodlust and echoes in Ralph's consciousness. The beast is shoved back into the recesses of his mind as his humane side regains control. Feeling nausea churn his stomach, the blond goes limp under Jack. The next few minutes are spent in silence; the only things breaking the quiet are the pouring rain, the thunder, and the slowing breaths of two teenagers. When the reddish tint clouding his vision finally clears, Ralph finds that Jack is still on top of him, icy eyes searching for an answer. The ginger flicks his knife, outlining a design against Ralph's cheek, "Well?"

Ralph is tired; the beast, for some reason, drains him like nothing else is able to. Under normal circumstances, he would have stayed obstinately silent just to infuriate the hunter. But right now, he lacks the energy to resist for no particular reason, "Well what?"

Jack's eyes flash in the half light, a dangerous glint settling in the sky blue irises, "Don't play dumb with me, Ralph. Well _this_," the knife leaves temporarily to tap on the bruising bite mark right above the redhead's collarbone, "Quite the bloodthirsty demon you are." Seeing that Ralph no longer posed a threat, Jack removes his arm from the blond's throat but stays straddling the other male, trailing his knife down the length of Ralph's torso. The blond doesn't dare move; the knife is above his major organs and he'd rather not have holes stabbed into them. He feels the point of the blade break skin on the left side of his chest; Ralph bites down on his lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. The cold metal carves a neat design onto his body and liquid oozes out, beading along the incision; a flash of lightning illuminates Jack briefly as the redhead draws the blade away, inspecting the handiwork he's left on the prisoner.

"You attacked me. That deserves punishment, yes?" the ginger slides off of Ralph and stands up, ducking his head to avoid the ceiling of the cave, "Even more, you drew blood. What am I going to do with you?"

Ralph stays quiet at the rhetorical question; he highly doubts anything he says would make whatever Jack has in mind less torturous. The hunter smiles at Ralph's glare, before turning around and walking into the storm; he's gone for a while, the steady _taptap _of the rain has lulling the blond into a trance when a finger forces his chin up. Ralph finds himself staring into orbs of ice and out of both reflex and irritation, he jerks away. Jack smirks.

"Did you enjoy yourself? You did love the rain so." Beside him, Roger gives a rare smile, dark eyes suddenly _too _focused. Ralph's body is still drained from the earlier episode with the beast, leaving him with little patience. The blond clenches his jaw, glaring at the two hunters through flaxen strands of hair.

"What do you _want_?" He knows something is going to happen. Roger _never _looks _this _pleased about _anything_ except when it came to inflicting pain. Jack's answer only intensifies the venom in Ralph's eyes.

"How rude Ralph," the mockery in the redhead's voice is evident under a thin layer of sincerity, "but if you must know, Roger and I planned to have a civilised conversation with you."

Ralph gives a sharp, bitter laugh, _Civilised? Them?_ "And if I don't want to talk to you?"

Jack sighs at this and turns to Roger with an air of regret, "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but will you take it from here?" The brunette grins, pushing Ralph outside the entrance into the rain, and readjusting the bindings to immobilize the prisoner. The freezing rain bites the captive's skin as Roger tests the needle sharp point of his spear against his thumb. The blond feels anticipation knot his stomach; the expression on Roger's face gives him all the information he needs. This was going to be bad.

Roger steps in front of his chief, blocking the redhead from Ralph's vision; he touches the warm wood to the blond's lower lip as Jack's disembodied voice gives Ralph his first question. Rebellion seals the captive's voice even and the point digs into the soft flesh of his mouth, slicing across in one movement. Ralph feels the hot blood pool on his lower lip and slide down the corners of his mouth; his body flinches reflexively at the pain and laughter lights up the dark grey eyes in front of him. Anger hardens his resolve to stay silent; after a while, he becomes only vaguely aware of the soft questions through a combination of frigid water and pain. Roger dices up Ralph's skin, watching the rain and blood mix into pinkish trails on the golden boy. The brunette seems delighted by his handiwork and sets his spear aside, uncoiling the whip from around his waist. The wind and rain have long worked themselves under Ralph's skin and into his core, chilling the blond to the bone and turning his lips blue. Roger's lashes barely draw a reaction from the numb figure, even as the leather tears deeper into flesh. Ralph would have blacked out from the cold and blood loss had Jack not suddenly intervened and stopped his lieutenant. A soft argument ensues, one that the blond barely registers through the stinging numbness of his entire body.

Eventually, both hunters come to a compromise and Roger disappears into the swirling mess of grey. Ralph growls at the hands dragging him back into the cave, tries futilely to swat them away, and nearly passes out again at the effort. Jack catches him and props the blond up against the rocky wall, studying the boy with a strange expression. The jarring rise in temperature dilates all of Ralph's constricted blood vessels, causing his skin to flush. Some of the oozing wounds begin to actively bleed, leaving strips of red on the slim body. The blond grits his teeth, he feels stifled in the cave, his body still attempting to adjust to the sudden rush of warmth. He starts when Jack swipes one finger across his cheek, covering it with blood, and pulls back for inspection. Blue eyes flick from the crimson liquid to Ralph before the redhead abruptly leans close and begins outlining patterns on the blond's face. Slender fingers drag long trails down from his right eye to his jaw line; there's the impression of a circle on his left cheekbone and brief strokes underneath the shape. It takes a moment for Ralph to realise through the searing haze of pain that Jack is painting him with his own blood; even though his body protests, the fair teen jerks away with an irritated sound. Jack laughs quietly, eyes gleaming.

"Shame you didn't become a hunter. Red looks good on you." Ignoring the death glare, Jack turns away, absentmindedly cutting random designs into the sandy floor of the cave. With nothing else to take his mind off of the suffocating heat and the sharp pain permeating every inch of his skin, Ralph appraises the turned profile of his old enemy, actually seeing the redhead for the first time without a mist of adrenalin clouding his vision. Surprisingly, Jack appears completely sane without the hungry, predatorial look dominating the cool irises. Doubt suddenly tugs at the blond, briefly questioning the idea of the other male being the embodiment of absolute evil. He quashes that thought as soon as it forms. _No_, Jack is a killer, a murderer. Ralph knows for certain that the redhead has been behind at least two deaths on the island. _There is no way _Jack can be redeemed.

_~Kill the pig! Cut her throat! Bash her in!~  
_

The memory hits him like a stone. _Jack_ had started that chant hadn't he? Why is it burned into _Ralph's_ memory like a hot coal? Nothing adds up; the memories of his first year on the island are blocked by guilt, denial, and a terrible fear. When he concentrates harder, he uncovers the thrilling residue of blood staining his hands. The pieces don't fit together into a coherent picture that tells Ralph why and how he ended up becoming Jack's prey. It helps even less in explaining the two boys lingering on his conscience and Ralph's polar reactions toward shedding blood. The oncoming headache makes the teen promptly stop; he should focus on escaping first. Maybe join up with the newcomers to destroy the reign Jack has over the island and then escape this nightmare and go home.

The pattering of feet on wet rock derails his concentration, a young boy appears at the entrance nearly dancing with fear from being out in the thunderstorm, "Roger wants you. He says Samneric knows something about something on the ship." The redhead is gone the same instant Ralph deciphers what that "something" probably was. No wonder Jack and Roger had been questioning him about ships. _He _had asked Jack to look for it after all. One of his father's ships is on the island; the blond's mouth quirks slightly, _It looks like we're not done yet, Jack__._

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**Two things inspired this chapter. First, water (even fresh water)**** on open wounds _sting_, you can try it if you don't believe me. Second, I hate walking into warm rooms after becoming a human popsicle because then, for a while, I roast in the heat. I think the two together would be quite torturous indeed.**

**Thank you for the reviews! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**I love you guys. I seriously do. For the support, for the reviews, and for just reading the story. A bigillion and one thank yous :D.**

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_**Arrows: Chapter 9**_

**Catalyst**

Samneric crouched down low to the wet forest floor, careful not to disturb the dripping creepers and vines overhead, inspecting a faint trail of crushed plant life. A few feet behind them, Percival is manipulating his injured spear arm into a less cumbersome position, wincing at the pain from the healing puncture wound. He'd been lucky; Ralph's arrow had missed the major vessels and nerves surrounding the boy's shoulder, only damaging the muscles in his upper arm. The same couldn't be said for the other victims; one _still_ couldn't move his arm _at all_. Luck didn't make the injury any less painful though and since most of the tribe did not possess much knowledge in first aid, Jack simply had four of his senior hunters hold the boy down while he pulled the projectile out. It was probably a good thing the arrow head was so small; otherwise, Percival might have lost the use of his right arm for much longer than a couple days. As it was, the boy had recovered sufficiently to be put back on full duty the day before.

Castle Rock was already tense from the news of the ship arriving; it was made even more so when word got around that their chief had personally gone to investigate. Then from the new information Samneric had given Jack and Roger of where they thought they'd seen the strange symbol, the tension in Castle Rock had spiked to fever pitch. Last night, when the twins were taking their guard shift, Sam had nearly choked on a cry and his brother had swung around to stare at what appeared to be Ralph's corpse. Under the faint moonlight, the crusting blood and wounds on the blond's skin were thrown into sharp relief and emphasized into grotesque clarity. On top of that, he wasn't moving. Identical eyes had filled with guilt, remembering that the blond had come from a military family. Of course he would be the first person to go to for information about a Navy ship. Both boys spent their night shift casting worried glances at each other, sincerely hoping that their words had not killed their friend. So, the next morning, when they reported to Jack, the sight of the pale eyes open and glaring at the ginger's back was an immense relief. Reassured that Ralph hadn't been tortured to death, the twins had slipped off to find Percival for the scouting mission.

The small group travels on in silence; the clear skies and beaming sun is lost on them, Roger had already expressed his doubt on their abilities to complete a successful scouting mission and they all knew what happened to failures. Samneric shiver at the unpleasant thought, urgency now evident in their stealthy movements. Something ahead of them moves, and all three boys freeze. When no other disturbance follows, Eric relaxes minutely, hazel eyes scanning the moisture-laden scenery. There's nothing out of the ordinary; an elbow gently nudges his brother and the mute question receives a negative on the auditory check as well. The boys are on a time limit; Jack wants them back before noon and the sun already high up in the East. They're going to have to assume that the movement was not important. The trio pushes on towards the beach, following an invisible hunting trail; several meters away from the tree line, Eric waves at Percival to stop while they push on. A few more feet forwards and the twins split although they stay within visual distance; it's a necessary precaution if one of them is caught. One brother watches the huddled group from the left; the other observes them from the right.

The newcomers don't appear to be doing anything at first. If they were, the tight circle of bodies obstructs everything from prying eyes. Then suddenly, one person breaks away and begins charging towards the trees like a madman. As he passes the camouflaged hunter, the boy briefly catches the insane light in the bloodshot eyes before the man turns away and begins tearing down the creepers and branches of a tree with a knife. He pauses briefly to take a bite of the sour fruit that inevitably comes down, snarls at the taste, and spits it out angrily, crushing the remainder against the tree. Sam is within an arm's length of the invader and mentally prays that the man doesn't come towards the cluster of plant life concealing him. They're too close to the main group and the twin can't take out the large figure in one strike. Fortunately, one tree seems to have provided enough of what the man is looking for. He makes his way back to his companions, puts the stuff down, and settles next to one of them shoving none to gently in order to fit; around thirteen meters away from his brother, Eric frowns at the sudden glints of silver that appear. The newcomers might not have guns, but all of them carry knives; this is worrying. Tawny pupils flick upwards to the sun. Time is up. They have to get going now if they don't want both Jack and Roger waiting for them.

Sam sees the signal to leave through a screen of creepers. After glancing quickly at the newcomers on the beach to assure himself that none of them are paying attention to the jungle, he slips out from behind the tangle of leaves and begins to silently make his way back to where they'd left Percival. So far, there's been no trouble. Of course that can't last. The moment they'd stained their hands with Simon's blood, misfortune had dogged their heels. First Piggy had died, and then they'd been forced to betray Ralph and take part in the hunt to kill him. They'd fallen as low as the rest of the hunters had and Justice couldn't forgive them any more than they could forgive themselves. The moment all three boys join up again, a man who'd strayed from the main group earlier in the morning runs into them. For a few seconds, they just stare at each other then the man tries to grab Percival. The hunters react instinctively, spear hands reflexively repeating the pattern drilled into them. _Shoulder level, aim, thrust, stab. _The man goes down with two spears embedded in his chest and one lodged in his back; all three have found and tore through his heart.

Upon regaining their senses, Percival begins to cry, tugging at the man's limp arm in a silent plea for him to respond, to not be dead. Eric staggers off to the side and retches into the bushes while his twin brother stares white-faced at the scene. They'd ended a human life. _Again_. Numbly, Sam grabs Percival and jerks the boy away from the body, hollowly muttering empty words of comfort in hopes to quiet the younger boy. By now, Eric is done emptying his stomach and is staring blankly into the distance. Sam grabs his twin's arm, forcing his mirror image to his feet and all three blunder back to Castle Rock. They are too shell-shocked to consider the fact that they'd potentially just left undeniable clues telling the newcomers that the island was inhabited. As it is, numbness and denial wraps around the memory, warping the event into one that never occurred; all of them silently agree to never speak of it, it's done and over. Out of sight, out of mind. Behind them, the victim's glassy eyes stare unseeingly up towards the silent sky as if imploring the heavens for a salvation that would never come.

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**And for my long suffering editor and friend, thank you for drawing the cover picture. I will refrain from talking about Lord of the Flies around you XD.**


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